as he took it and she tried to quell the frisson of awareness that went through her at that tiny touch. Ten years and he affected her just as he ever had, maybe even more.
Malik stared down at the phone, his expression impassive. Gracie’s heart lurched. What was he thinking as he looked at a picture of their son? Did he notice how Sam had his silvery eyes but her gap-toothed smile, at least the one she’d had as a child? But he wouldn’t know that, of course. There was so much he didn’t know about her, just as there was so much she didn’t know about him. They were strangers, bound by the beautiful and precious human being whose image Malik held in his hand.
Silently he started to hand the phone back to her, but his thumb slipped on the screen and the photos started to scroll forward. Another image of Sam appeared, this one of him goofing around in the kitchen, a silly expression on his face. Malik froze and then glanced at Gracie from under thick, dark lashes, his expression still shuttered.
‘May I?’ he asked, gesturing to the phone. Wordlessly she nodded and then sat there, her breath held, as Malik scrolled through the photos without speaking.
Sam grinning at the camera, Sam hamming it up in the backyard with some friends, Sam proudly holding third-place prize in the school spelling bee. Malik glanced at each photo for a few silent seconds before swiping to the next one. They were all, Gracie realised, pictures of Sam. And still he didn’t say a word.
Questions bubbled to her lips and she forced them down. She wasn’t going to ask Malik what he thought. She wasn’t going to beg for him to give some sign of what he was feeling, some word of praise or approval for the son he now claimed he wanted to know. Although, Gracie realised, he hadn’t actually claimed any such thing. Malik hadn’t told her one word about why he’d burst so suddenly into their lives, simply that he’d discovered Sam’s existence.
They didn’t talk until the limo pulled up to the restaurant in Chicago’s West Loop neighbourhood. As Gracie stepped out of the car, Malik rested one hand on the small of her back; she could feel the warm, insistent press of his palm and didn’t know whether to ignore it or lean into the caress.
The black-jacketed maître d’ opened the door himself and ushered them into an elegant restaurant that was lit by candles and completely empty.
Gracie turned to Malik in surprise. ‘I thought this place was booked months in advance...’
‘I took the liberty of hiring the entire restaurant,’ Malik replied with a shrug. ‘I wanted to ensure our privacy.’
‘Your Highness,’ the maître d’ murmured. ‘We are so pleased to have you visit us.’
Gracie had to keep her jaw from dropping as they were ushered to the single table set apart from the others, awash with candlelight and laden with crystal. She sat down, her mind still spinning, as Malik sat across from her and the sommelier handed him the extensive wine list.
‘You reserved the whole restaurant?’ she said, still disbelieving, her voice lowered to a whisper.
Malik raised his eyebrows as he looked up from the wine list. ‘Yes, what of it?’
‘It’s just...this place is being written up in all the magazines. People, even famous and rich people, wait months for a reservation.’
A small smile played about Malik’s mouth. ‘And?’
And with that single word Gracie realised afresh how powerful Malik was. The Sultan-in-Waiting of Alazar. A shiver of apprehension rippled through her.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were the heir to the throne?’ she asked. ‘Back then?’
Awareness and memory flared in Malik’s iron-grey eyes and too late Gracie realised she shouldn’t have referenced back then. That one magical, amazing, terrible night.
‘I wanted to keep a low profile.’
She decided to salvage her wounded pride by saying, ‘I would have thought your title would have added to your appeal.’
Black brows snapped together dangerously. ‘What do you mean?’
A shrug, to show how little it mattered now. ‘Only that it’s a good chat-up line, isn’t it? Not that you needed a chat-up line with me. I practically fell into your arms.’ The memory of how quickly and eagerly she’d bought the whole connection spiel brought a flush of shame to her face. She lowered her head, letting her hair swing down, to hide her expression.
Malik looked as if he wanted to disagree, but he merely pressed his lips together as he scanned the menu. ‘That was then, this is now.’
‘Very true.’ And now was going to be a whole lot of different.
‘The past doesn’t matter any more, except in relation to Sam.’
Which was her cue to ask what his intentions were. But before she could summon the courage to so much as open her mouth, a waiter materialised by Malik’s elbow. ‘Your Highness would like to order?’
‘Yes, I’ll start with the langoustine and Miss Jones will have the oysters on the half shell.’
‘Very good.’
Gracie listened, open-mouthed, as Malik ordered her entire meal without consulting her once. He handed the menu to the waiter and, with a pointed look he completely ignored, Gracie handed hers over, as well.
‘I obviously didn’t need that.’
Malik looked nonplussed. ‘Need what?’
‘The menu. Since you were going to order for me.’ She didn’t bother to keep the pique out of her voice. ‘What if I don’t like oysters?’
‘Have you had them before?’
And now she was caught out. ‘No,’ Gracie said after a moment, ‘but that’s not the point.’
‘Isn’t it? I’d like you to have new experiences, Grace. Adventures. Isn’t that what you once wanted?’
Gracie took a few scattered seconds to formulate her reply. ‘I’d like to choose my own adventures, thank you very much.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Malik said in a tone that suggested he would do no such thing. And what adventures was he even talking about? What kind of future was he referring to?
‘Malik...’ Gracie licked her lips, her mouth turning dry. Just saying his name made her feel strange. Made her remember. ‘Why have you come here? What...what do you want with Sam?’ She released a low breath, relief and trepidation warring within her. At least it was out there now. He had to answer, surely.
But Malik didn’t speak for a long moment. His eyes were fathomless and opaque, like pools of silver ice, glacial lakes. His mouth pursed and then relaxed as he sat back in his chair, one hand toying with the stem of his empty wine glass. ‘It is natural, is it not, to want to meet your own child? Until three days ago, I had no idea I had a son. Of course I would come.’
Not necessarily, Gracie wanted to say but didn’t quite dare. Not considering how his grandfather had reacted, or how Malik had pushed her away that wretched morning after. ‘So...’ Gracie began carefully, ‘you want to meet Sam?’
‘Of course.’
‘And then...?’ As she held her breath, she realised she didn’t know what she was hoping for. For Malik to say he’d return to Alazar and leave them alone? But Sam would be crushed to meet his father and then have him disappear. And yet...what was the alternative? For Malik to be a part of their lives? The thought of him setting up some kind of house or life in Addison Heights was absurd.
Her mind spun in circles, coming up against dead ends at every turn. What did Malik want?
‘And then,’ Malik said, his voice as calm and unruffled as a summer sea, ‘you and Sam will come with me to Alazar.’